On That Night
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Christmas-themed oneshot. Tim-centered. Where can one go for comfort when running away from the pain?


**A/N:** I was listening to Trans-Siberian Orchestra last night and got hit with an idea for a oneshot. It didn't turn out exactly how I thought it would, but I think it's okay. Also, I'm not Catholic and I tried to make sure that my own religious beliefs and terminology didn't creep into the story, but I can't guarantee that I got all the Catholic stuff right. My apologies to any Catholics if I did mess up. I did try. :)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own NCIS or the characters contained within it. I am not making money off this story.

* * *

**On That Night  
**by Enthusiastic Fish

Churches generally experienced greater crowds during the month of December. People who weren't religious any other time of the year became religious for this time of year. People Father Charles had never seen before (and would likely never see again) often came through the doors at Christmas time.

Today, however, it was almost empty. A blizzard had hit DC and it was a doozy. Car accidents all over the place, snow plows unable to keep up with the snow...and people staying home where it was warm.

...but there was one man who had come in around ten in the morning and still hadn't left ten hours later. He had barely lifted his head in the time he'd been there. Was he praying? Hard to tell. At one point, Father Charles could have sworn the man was sleeping.

He didn't look homeless. He didn't look like he was on the run...but he _had_ been sitting there, almost unmoving, for quite some time. Father Charles decided to approach him.

"Excuse me, son, are you all right?" he asked, gently.

There was a laugh that burst out of the huddled figure, one that conveyed only despair.

Father Charles sat beside him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm not actually Catholic," he whispered.

"That's all right. I'm not asking if you want to make a confession," Father Charles said. "You've been here for a long time, for someone who isn't Catholic."

"Do I need to leave? I can."

"No. You don't. This is a place of worship and a place of sanctuary when needed."

"Won't help but that's nice."

"What is it, son? What's wrong? What brought you here in the midst of a blizzard?"

"The blizzard."

"Why?"

"I was driving," he said and started to cry. "I was the one driving and now they could all die!"

He still hadn't looked up. He was hiding his face in his arms, leaning on the pew ahead of him.

"That sounds like it was a terrible experience for you. Do you want to talk about it?"

"I was being careful! They always make fun of how slow I drive...and I was being careful..."

"But the weather didn't cooperate?"

"And the cars behind us...that ran into us and forced me into the cars in front...and then...off the road. She looked so betrayed...as if I did it on purpose! It wasn't! It wasn't on purpose! I wasn't trying..." He broke off again and let out a shaky breath. "I didn't even look away, not like the first time."

Father Charles now wished he'd taken the time to speak to the young man earlier. He was seeking for solace and apparently hadn't found it elsewhere.

"God knows you tried your best," he said.

"Yeah, and where was _he_?" the man asked, suddenly sounding angry. "Where was _God_ when they were all trapped in the car? Where was he when it started to...fill up with water? When Tony and Ziva started to drown? Where was _he_?"

"Where He always is," Father Charles said.

"Far away from anyone who needs him. Right. Gotcha," he said.

"No, son," Father Charles said, putting a comforting hand on his head. "God is always right there. Just because He doesn't make your life perfect doesn't mean that He doesn't care and doesn't know."

"Then, _why_?"

"Why did your parents let you trip and fall when you were learning to walk? Why did they let you crash on your bike a few times when you were learning to ride? You don't learn if everything is perfect. You don't learn to walk if your mother scoops you off the floor and carries you everywhere. You don't develop into the man you can become."

"A man who kills people."

"No. A man who clearly cares deeply about his friends and associates. A man who, I'd guess, would rather have died himself than see the suffering of others."

"And why _couldn't _it be me? I was driving!"

"Perhaps to help you learn another important lesson."

"What? What could I possibly learn from this?"

"That you don't have control of everything. You can't control the weather. You can't control other people's choices. You can't control those things, and you have to accept that. ...and you need to learn to hope for the best and accept it if it doesn't come. Don't let it break you."

He still had kept his face hidden. Father Charles could see that the anger was really more at himself than at God, but God was a convenient person to blame. He'd seen it more times than he could count, and thankfully, he knew that God could handle it.

"It took so long to get them out. I wanted...I wanted to stay in the car until they were all out, but I couldn't. I couldn't because they wouldn't let me. I kept saying...I kept telling them that they needed to get to Tony and Ziva. They needed to get to Gibbs. Not me. I was fine. The way the car landed...I was fine. They weren't! I don't want them to die!"

"Of course, you don't."

He cried for a few seconds without speaking and then his head turned slightly toward Father Charles, although he still didn't show his face.

"You don't have to stay here...if you have something else to do."

"I know that, but what I'm doing is what I'm called to do: give comfort and whatever help I can to those who need it."

"I'm not Catholic."

"You said that already, and I don't mind. We're all creations of God."

Another moment of silence.

"It's like a nightmare I can't get away from. All I can see...over and over again...the cars from behind sliding on the road, hitting us...and then...the crash in front...and then...the bridge and the water. I can hear Tony and Ziva trying to get free! And Gibbs...knocked out...and...and I'm fine! It's not fair!"

"Life tends not to be, unfortunately."

"They were all looking at me, not saying anything but wondering why it was that I was okay and no one else was. They were asking without saying a word."

"Who?"

"The others...Ducky and Abby and Jimmy. And when Gibbs' dad got there...and they all just kept looking at me...and I couldn't...couldn't explain why!"

Father Charles wondered how much of this was in the young man's head, due to his own feelings of guilt, and how much was real. Obviously, he couldn't ask. He knew what the man was thinking.

"I couldn't bear to see them all looking at me...secretly wishing that I was the one."

"So you left and came here."

"Eventually. I don't...think I walked straight here."

"You walked?"

"The car...was..."

"Of course. I'm sorry."

If he had walked from the nearest hospital, that was a fair jaunt in the storm. Now, Father Charles was wondering just how _fine_ this man really was. Gently, he urged him to sit up. Just a little pressure on the shoulder, pulling him upright. He obeyed the silent request although he kept his eyes downturned. The face was young but not as young as he'd thought it would be. This man was in his thirties, and probably cut a fairly nice figure in other circumstances. Right now, however, he didn't look like he was okay. Not at all. He had a long gash across the side of his face, stitched closed. He had a nasty black eye and a rather large goose egg on his forehead.

"Why don't you just tell me the whole story? Sometimes, sharing a hard experience makes it easier to bear. Others can help with the load."

"Like you?" he asked.

"Yes, like me. First, what's your name?"

"Tim...McGee."

"Alright, Tim. What happened?"

Tim took a deep breath, shaking a little, possibly with exhaustion, and stared at the ceiling. That was better than the hunched posture he'd had before, at least.

"We were coming back from a stupid team-building conference Vance made us all go to. One of the things they did was force us to take on positions we didn't usually take, saying that the team needs to have confidence in each other no matter what the situation is. So...they had me drive back. It was only a couple of hours, but then, the storm hit."

He closed his eyes and rubbed his hand over his face.

"It wasn't too bad at first, but I slowed down. I didn't want to..." He laughed shakily. "...get in an accident. Tony and Ziva were both telling me to go faster, but I wouldn't. Gibbs was asleep...or he was pretending to be."

"What do you do for a living, Tim?" Father Charles asked, feeling more than a little curious.

"I'm a federal agent. I work for NCIS."

"I see. Go on."

Tim took another deep breath.

"There were a lot of cars going faster and they were passing us. I refused to speed up...the snow was coming down so thick. I was about to stop the car and tell them that they could drive. I was so irritated."

Which probably didn't help how he was feeling now. Father Charles squeezed his shoulder gently.

"And then?"

"Then...a car behind us spun out of control and hit us from behind. It forced us into the back of the car in front of us...and another car hit from the side...or maybe it was the same one. I don't know. We were going over the river...and went through the guardrails down into the water."

He sounded teary again.

"We landed with the back end in the water."

"Then?"

"I think I must have blacked out for a minute because I don't remember until there were people yelling. Tony and Ziva were trying to get out of the back, but there was water coming in and they couldn't get their seatbelts off and...and there was something wrong with them. They were have trouble, and Gibbs wasn't moving at all."

He was shaking even more.

"And then...then, suddenly, there were people pulling me out of the car. I kept telling them to get Tony and Ziva first...before they drowned, but they wouldn't listen to me. They got me out and took me to the hospital. I didn't even get to see what had happened to them. And then...suddenly, I was in a hospital bed. I don't know how I got there...and the others were there, staring at me...for hours. Abby said that whoever was driving deserved to die."

"She probably meant the other car."

"You don't know Abby," Tim said, shaking his head. "She was really mad, and she wouldn't even talk to me."

Father Charles smiled. He was concerned, but mostly about Tim's state of mind. He wasn't thinking clearly and had not mentioned getting released at any point. He may have simply wandered out of the hospital unnoticed.

"Did you find out how your friends are doing?"

"No. Gibbs was in surgery. Tony and Ziva...were both unconscious."

"All right. Tim...I have an idea. You clearly need to know what happened to your friends. Why don't I take you back to the hospital and I'll go with you to find out. If you need anyone on your side, you've got me."

Tim finally looked at him...for about the first time.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because God never left me alone. I'm returning the favor."

"What do you mean?"

"'And the king answering, shall say to them: Amen I say to you, as long as you did it to one of these my least brethren, you did it to me.' Matthew, chapter 25, verse 40. When I help another person, I'm also serving God. Will you let me?"

Tim thought about it for a moment and then nodded.

"Good. I have a rather sturdy car. We can get to the hospital in no time."

"The roads are bad," Tim whispered.

"Not as bad here in the city. They've been plowing."

Father Charles stood up and put out his hand to help Tim stand as well. Tim accepted the offer and wobbled a little on his feet. Unassumingly, Father Charles put his arm around Tim's waist and supported his weight.

"All right. Let's go, son."

"Okay."

They got into the car and headed to the hospital. Tim seemed a little out of it and said nothing. When they arrived, Father Charles helped him inside, sat him down on a chair and went to the desk.

"Hello, I have a young man here who was recently in an accident and I think he may have left the hospital before he should have. He's very worried about the others involved. Could I take him to them?"

The nurse at the front desk looked at Tim who was sitting, staring vaguely around.

"What's his name?"

"Tim McGee."

Her eyes widened.

"Oh...Father. You have no idea how glad everyone will be that he's here. He left the hospital yesterday without anyone realizing it. The police are out looking for him."

Father Charles smiled and nodded. That was what he'd hoped, that Tim's perceptions were skewed enough to be thinking something other than what was reality.

"Could I take him back? I think he needs the support and once he sees how worried everyone has been, I think he'll be all right."

"Of course. The ICU waiting room is on the third floor. I'm sure his friends will be there or else in..." She looked in the computer. "...room 215 where Leroy Gibbs is."

"Thank you very kindly."

Father Charles walked back to Tim.

"All right, son. Let's go."

He helped Tim up again and took him to the waiting room. When they walked in, an older man looked over and then leapt to his feet and hurried to greet them.

"Timothy! Where have you been? We've been so worried about you!" He hugged Tim tightly. "I was afraid that you may have died out in the storm."

"I went to the church, Ducky," Tim said softly.

"About half a mile away," Father Charles said.

"Timothy, you should be in a bed, not wandering around DC."

"Needed to...get away."

"Well, I'm glad you're back now. Will you let me take you to your doctor and get you settled?"

"Tony...Ziva...how are they?"

"Still unconscious, I'm afraid, but they think they'll come out of it in their own good time. Jethro is fine...or he will be once he accepts that even he can't avoid a broken bone or two." Ducky's tone was bracing as if this was all a small thing that would pass. It was what Tim needed because he was looking less and less aware.

"Okay."

"Father, could you wait here for a moment? I'll be right back."

"Of course," Father Charles said. He sat down and watched the pair walk out of the waiting room. It was a distinct relief to see that Tim's thought of everyone resenting him was wrong, and unless he missed his guess, even if one or two people _did_ resent him, this Ducky would be more than a match for them.

It was about twenty minutes before Ducky came back. When he came in, Father Charles stood up and smiled.

"I'm Father Charles."

"Dr. Mallard...Ducky, as many call me. I can't thank you enough for bringing him back here. I was horribly afraid that he would get lost in the snow and freeze. He's asleep now, in a bed, as he should have been before, poor lad. How did you find him?"

"Oh, he found me," Father Charles said.

"What do you mean?"

"He came into my church and stayed there all day long. I'm sure he was waiting for me. I just hadn't been aware enough to notice."

Ducky smiled.

"Do you know what happened?"

"I know that he thought you were all angry with him because of what happened. He was driving the car, he said."

"Yes, he was...but no one was angry. On the contrary, we were relieved to find that one of them was conscious and not fatally-injured."

"Well, he mentioned that someone named Abby had expressed a lot anger about whoever was driving."

"The other car, the car that started the pile-up. From what the police said, the driver was going much too fast. There was a fender bender ahead on the road and so traffic was slowing dramatically. He lost control and ran into their car...twice, actually. It put them into the river. Timothy's airbag didn't deploy. Something caused it to malfunction and so he got a couple of heavy knocks."

"I wondered."

"When Abigail, Jimmy and I arrived, we checked on them all and then we went to sit with Timothy. The doctor said that he was in and out and so we shouldn't try to push him to talk about it. It was very difficult for Abigail to stay quiet, but she was worried enough that she managed."

"He said you were all just staring at him."

Ducky smiled with some exasperation.

"He must have been aware more than we thought he was. He seemed to be mostly unconscious, although he would talk a little bit...only it wasn't making much sense. Well, Jethro got out of surgery and so we all went to see how he was doing, promising Timothy that we'd be back. ...but when we got back to his room, he was gone. We thought, at first, that his doctor must have taken him for some more tests. He had mentioned the possibility of doing another MRI. ...but then..." He sighed and shook his head. "Then, we found out that he hadn't and that Timothy was nowhere in the hospital. The storm was still raging out there. It was as if we'd had another tragedy after the first one."

"He came into the church at around ten in the morning."

"He was gone by about eight. So he was still wandering around for a couple of hours before he reached your church."

"I only wished that I had thought to talk to him before I did. I had plenty to do, but I also had plenty of time. Sometimes, I can get too involved in my own thoughts and I forget to listen."

"Well, I'm very glad that you listened. Is there anything I could do for you?"

"Let Tim know that I'm glad everything worked out for him and that he's welcome to come back to the church any time. ...and if he wants to convert, I'll be happy to help him with that, too," Father Charles said with a grin.

Ducky smiled in response.

"I'll be happy to do so."

Father Charles got up and put his coat back on. He shook Ducky's hand and headed back to the church. As he approached the altar, he looked up and smiled to himself. Then, he walked over to the candles and lit one with a prayer in his heart. He hoped that all would go well for Tim and his friends.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_One week later..._

"Ite, missa est."

"Thanks be to God."

Midnight Mass ended and people began to file out of the church. It took a long time to get everyone out. Once they were gone, Father Charles removed the formal attire and then went out to clean up. He didn't have to do it himself, but he preferred to be involved.

"Do you need any help?"

He straightened and smiled.

"Tim McGee."

Tim smiled. "I wasn't sure you'd remember. Some of it's a little foggy to me."

"I remember you quite well. You're looking much better than you were."

"I'm feeling much better. I was here for the Mass."

"And how did you like it?"

"It was nice."

"Good. Yes, I could use the help if you're willing."

Tim nodded and started picking up some of the hymnals and paper left behind. There were others working as well. When they'd finished, Father Charles walked over to where Tim was lighting a candle.

"You ready to convert?" he asked.

Tim smiled. "No. I'm not."

"That's all right. Can't have everything. How are things going, Tim?"

"Better. Ziva woke up a couple of days ago. She and Tony...they'll be a long time getting better. Tony got pneumonia...his lungs aren't in the best shape when it comes to water. Gibbs broke his leg and a couple of ribs. They'll all be okay, though...eventually."

"And you?"

Tim smiled a little as he stared at the candles.

"I'm...getting better, too. Physically, I just have some headaches and a lot of bruises. I ache, but I'm not seriously hurt. Mentally...I'm...still dealing with it, but I wanted to thank you for everything. A lot of that day is a blur to me, but...I remember you being there and talking with me. You had to have more important things to do, but you were there for me, and I appreciate it."

"There's nothing more important than serving others," Father Charles said. "You still feel like it was your fault?"

"Yeah..." Tim sighed. "When I was sixteen, I was in a car accident while I was driving. My dad was with me. He was hurt really bad. It was a..."

"Bad memory."

"Yeah. Can't help thinking about it every time I close my eyes. I've been going to therapy. It'll help...eventually, I guess."

"And do the others blame you?"

Tim looked a little sheepish.

"I don't really know. I've...kind of been...avoiding them. Ducky knows what I'm doing and I don't think he likes it, but he hasn't said anything. Abby's so worried about everything that I don't think she's noticed."

"You're afraid?"

"Yeah." Tim suddenly seemed to realize what he was doing. "Hey...I'm sorry. I don't need to lay all this on you. I was really just coming to say thank you. That's all."

He started to get up, but Father Charles stopped him.

"No, Tim. Stay. You need someone to talk to. I'm not trained, of course, but I'm more than willing to be a sympathetic ear."

"It's Christmas Day."

"Technically, yes. What better celebration of the birth of the Savior? So go on."

Tim sat back down, clearly, a little relieved to be able to talk to someone who wouldn't be analyzing him.

"Well...the thing is...I _know_ that it's probably stupid of me. I mean...it was an accident. I couldn't control what that other car was doing. There was so much snow that I probably couldn't have done anything to stop the car. I _know_."

"But that doesn't matter, really, does it. Have you talked to your family about what happened?"

"Only to let them know about it and that I'm okay. I know my mom checks the news from around here to see if I'm mentioned. So I had to make sure she didn't have to worry too much."

"Tim...in all of this, are you thinking about how much _you're_ worrying?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you've mentioned how everyone else is doing, how everyone else is feeling, whether or not others are worried. It's good to think about others. Absolutely. Selflessness is a virtue, but if you yourself can't bear the load, it's hard to take on the load of others. How are _you_ feeling? Don't decide whether or not it's stupid. Just how are you feeling?"

Tim was quiet for a moment. Thinking. Staring forward.

"I'm afraid that I'll find out it really was my fault, that anyone else would have been able to prevent it. I'm afraid to get behind the wheel again. This is the second horrible accident I've been in...and people suffered for it."

"So did you."

There were tears again, although they didn't fall. He looked back at Father Charles.

"I'm not really religious, but I do believe in God. I already told you I'm not Catholic, but...can you tell me something?"

"I'll do my best."

"Will God blame me for this? Will He see this as my fault?"

"No. Not from what you've told me," Father Charles said firmly. "Even if you did bear some responsibility, your contrition is important."

"I blamed Him. I remember I was mad at Him for what happened."

"We are all very fortunate that God understands our weaknesses and human frailties."

Tim smiled and wiped at his eyes just a bit.

"My dad is paralyzed from the first accident. I don't want anything to happen like that."

"It may. It may not. Either result is not something you can be blamed for. I see it as a Christmas miracle."

"How?"

"You were struck twice by a vehicle, went over a bridge into a river and not one of you died. Yes, there was serious injury, but I would say that you had angels watching over you in that moment."

"You seem more like an angel, to me," Tim said.

"Well, do you know what the word angel means?"

"No."

"It comes from the Greek word for messenger or message. A messenger of peace, a messenger of mercy...they would be angels. If God is using me as a messenger of comfort right now, technically, I would be an angel for you. I'm not so bold as to equate myself with Gabriel, but don't you think He can use people on the street to do His work if necessary?"

"I don't see your halo."

"It's in the back. It needs to be polished," Father Charles said without batting an eye.

Tim laughed and then looked around the church.

"This is a beautiful building."

"Yes. It is."

"Would you mind if I came here when I had the time?"

"Not at all."

"Even if I have no intention of becoming a Catholic."

Father Charles smiled. "We'll take it slow."

Tim laughed again.

"Now, here's my recommendation, not as one with authority, but as a concerned servant of God: Go and talk to your friends. I think you'll find that they will be happy to see you and they won't blame you one bit for what happened."

Tim stood up, and Father Charles did as well.

"And one more thing, Tim."

"What?"

"God came to earth for all of us. He has never forgotten you and He hears your prayer."

"Thank you...Father."

"It's my pleasure."

Tim started to walk out of the church, but Father Charles watched as he took a deep breath and seemed to straighten a little bit.

"Merry Christmas, Tim."

Tim turned back and his smile was unfeigned and full of gratitude.

"Thank you. Merry Christmas."

After he was alone in the church, Father Charles looked toward the altar. He walked toward it and then knelt and prayed his gratitude. Even if Tim never did come back, he felt that he had helped one man find a way out of a pit of despair and for that he would always be grateful.

He closed his eyes and whispered...

"Gloria in excelsis Deo."

FINIS!


End file.
